


Are You Flirting, Mr. Graves?

by kyril (CrownlessAgain)



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Breeding, Dirty Talk, Drunk Sex, Impregnation, M/M, Mpreg but it's ambiguous, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Powerbottom Newt, Pregnancy Kink, Topping from the Bottom, Tsundere Newt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 16:29:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9500126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrownlessAgain/pseuds/kyril
Summary: A magizoologist down on his luck brings home an Auror to indulge in a certain kink.





	

It's on nights like this, when Percival Graves thinks too much and the shadows in his apartment become too dark, that he's most grateful for his stalemate with the patrons of The Blind Pig. He does not arrest them within fifteen feet of the establishment, and in return, they begrudgingly allow him to drink his firewhisky and forget in peace.

Except, on this Friday night, his peace is shattered by a glimpse of a certain blue coat at the other end of the bar.

Breath hitching oddly, Percival slides quietly towards the owner of the coat, who sits hunched over a glass of Maelbolge. He looks no different from how he looked a year ago, except for his vest, now velvety pearl-grey, and his auburn hair, which has been immaculately combed and parted on the side instead of sticking up like a Snidget's nest. He's clearly too caught up in tapping a little tune against the side of the glass to notice Percival's presence.

"Mr. Scamander," Percival says quietly.

The magizoologist flinches, staring up at the older man with wide owl-eyes. Percival remembers that it's unreasonable to expect this man to be friendly after all that happened, and, sighing inwardly, draws back a little.

"Mr. Graves." Newt pulls his mouth into an awkward smile, quickly meets Percival's gaze, then stares down at the scuffed wood of the bar. The flush on his cheekbones suggests that he's been indulging himself for a while now, but his eyes are rimmed with red, as if he had been crying.

"Mr. Scamander, I..." Percival never stuttered before the incident. "I understand perfectly if my presence here makes you uncomfortable. But I never got the chance to apologise in person." He lowers his voice, leaning in just an inch closer. "I want you to know that I truly am sorry, for all that was done to you in my name."

"No need," Newt replies, a little sharply. "It wasn't you."

Percival knows that the conversation should have ended there. But, in truth, he cannot deny how much he desires vindication from Newt. He had caused so much pain for so many, but poor Credence's misery is over, and he had not hurt Tina quite as intimately as he had hurt Newt.

"I would also like to say that if you ever need any assistance in New York, my door is always open to you." This coaxes a small smile out of Newt, but then his brown eyes darken.

"That won't be necessary, Mr. Graves. I'm leaving tomorrow." He laughs bitterly, and takes a swig of his drink. "Seems like every time I come here, I screw everything up."

Percival's throat tightens as he stares suspiciously at the suitcase balancing against Newt's leg. Some kind of twine has been wound carelessly around both fastenings. "If you are in need of, uh, legal assistance," he whispers, "I suppose I can put in a word--"

"Oh no, nothing like that. Just Miss Goldstein. I promised that I would give her a copy of my book and it...didn't go quite the way I'd expected." Newt seems almost shocked at having said so much.

"Ah, forgive me for prying, then. However, I do know Miss Goldstein rather well, so if you would like to discuss what happened..."

"No," Newt says abruptly, and drains his glass. "But you can buy me a drink."

Percival almost falls off his chair. But Newt's expression is utterly serious, if a little inebriated. So he asks the barman for two shots of giggle water, and watches Newt carefully for signs about how this is supposed to proceed.

"Whatever the case, it's Miss Goldstein's loss," he blurts out. "You are a very handsome man, Mr. Scamander."

Newt stares at him through narrowed eyes.

"Are you flirting with me, Mr. Graves?"

"May I remind you that you were the one who asked me for a drink," Percival retorts. Thankfully the sound of the barman slamming down the glasses shatters the tension. Although Percival ordered the second shot for himself, he doesn't protest when Newt swallows both in rapid succession.

"It just isn't going to work," says Newt after the giggles die down. "Miss Goldstein is...lovely, but I don't know how to act around her. She's a _giver_ , you see. She gives so much and tries to be so gentle but I don't know how to take, and it hurts her." He leans in so close that Percival can smell the chuckle extract on his breath. "What I need is a firm hand to guide me."

Another round of giggle water, and Percival's got his hand on Newt's thigh.

"Firm enough for you?" he growls under his breath."

The magizoologist's eyes twinkle as he takes the hand in his own and moves it higher, stopping only when it rests between his legs. Heat blossoms up the Auror's spine as he starts to stroke, gentle at first then harder, relishing the slow hardening of Newt's flesh.

"Firmer," Newt says, eyes dark with desire.

 

An hour and several shots later, Percival has Newt moaning sweetly against the wall of his bedroom. Newt's blue coat and vest have been dumped unceremoniously somewhere in the entrance hall, and his tie is lying under the bedside table where Percival flung it after it repeatedly got in the way of his mouthing at the magizoologist's neck. Newt's shirt still hangs around his shoulders, open to reveal the scars marring the milky skin of his chest. Percival is sure he can see a button on the floor. His hand is down Newt's trousers, wringing desperate noises from his lips with every movement.

Percival doesn't notice the flash of mischief in Newt's half-lidded eyes before an elegant hand wraps around his wrist, pulling his hand upwards. Distracted by the red mark he's currently sucking into Newt's collarbone, Percival strokes Newt's slender belly absently, fingers pushing at the waistband of Newt's briefs. But the insistent grip around his wrist keeps his hand just on the edge of soft red curls.

"Get me pregnant," Newt purrs. "Put a baby in my belly, Mr. Graves!"

Under different circumstances, the Auror might have taken the time to try unravel Newt's intentions and hopefully figure out his internal physiology. But before his lust-addled mind has any time to process what he just heard, he's being pushed back by surprisingly strong hands on his shoulders, Newt's breath hot against his ear. He lets himself be walked backwards until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed, and then he's lying supine with a squirming lapful of desperately aroused Brit. Newt bends down to kiss him sloppily, one hand wrapped just hard enough around his throat to threaten of things to come, the other fumbling with his belt.

"You think I came home with you because I enjoy your company, Director?" Newt pulls away, a string of saliva connecting his and Percival's bottom lips. "You're a strong man. A prime stud to stuff my cunt and breed me. I need nothing from you except your cock and your seed." Percival stares up at him slack-jawed, shocked at the filth pouring from this shy and awkward young man's baby-pink mouth. His train of thought is shattered by Newt divesting himself of his trousers and underwear and finally shrugging off his shirt. His cock stands proudly, red and slick at the tip, slender like the rest of him. Percival reaches out to touch it, rubbing the slit and spreading Newt's wetness over his fingertips. He's rewarded with Newt throwing his head back and moaning, eyes rolled back, face red enough to hide his freckles.

He's so preoccupied with Newt's cock, that he doesn't notice the British wizard whisper a grease spell and shove two fingers inside himself. He watches, entranced, as Newt's tight pink opening widens around the digits, his hand moving between Newt's legs as if of its own accord. Newt fingers himself with quick, stabbing motions, and Percival finds the rhythm a little hard to adjust to when he pushes his index finger in alongside Newt's, moving slowly to avoid hurting his lover.

"If I wanted someone to finger me," Newt snaps, "I'd be on the dance floor of that dreadful place right now." Percival removes his hand sheepishly. "Are you going to fuck me or not, Mr. Graves?" He withdraws his fingers, his hand wrapping around the MACUSA director's already painfully hard cock. And then he's inside that tight slick heat, _inside Newt Scamander,_ and he almost swoons with pleasure as Newt starts to ride him, the muscles of his abdomen contracting with every snap of his hips, making his inner walls clench blissfully around Percival's cock.

"Fuck me harder, Mr. Graves!" Newt grabs Percival's hand and presses it against his lower belly. "Want you to fuck me so hard, you'll feel your prick right through my skin. Pump my womb full of your seed, plant your pups inside me!" Strands of sweat-slick hair cling to his neck and forehead; the flush of arousal creeps across his chest, darkening the milky skin, and Percival has never seen a more beautiful and more surreal sight than Newt Scamander riding his cock and begging to be impregnated. One hand grips Newt's jutting hipbone, the other travels upwards to cup a pectoral, thumb tracing around the dusky nipple. The sound Newt makes is downright bestial, and Percival wonders for a moment which of his creatures he learned it from.

"Like my tits, don't you Mr. Graves? Maybe I'll let you suck on them one day." He hisses through his teeth when Percival pinches his nipple sharply, rewarding the older man by rising completely off his cock and then slamming back down. "If you do your job, they'll be full and leaking in a few months. I might even let you have some milk. A treat for serving me so well, _Percy._ " Newt laughs, drunk on lust and giggle water, and Percival can't deny how the idea shoots right down to his cock.

"I like your ass too." Percival groans as Newt leans forward to chase the pleasure, every thrust at this new angle hitting the sweet spot inside him. A few drops of slick run down his bouncing member, dripping onto Percival's belly.

"Come inside my cunt, Director!" Newt moans. "Impregnate me, I'm your breeding bitch, your tight willing hole!" Percival takes him in hand, stroking him hard and fast; Newt screams like a wild animal as he comes, spurting all over Percival's hand and his own chest, the rippling of his inner muscles massaging his lover to completion. The Auror gasps as he fills Newt's insides with his seed, the younger man immediately tightening almost painfully around him.  

"Not letting a drop escape," he mutters, his chest heaving as he comes down from his high. "Want all of it in me. Want to feel it stirring into life." He rolls off, and immediately positions himself on his hands and knees.

"Really?" Percival groans as he's presented with a gorgeous, well-fucked rear that would be more at home on a curvy lady than on this slender young man. "You're insatiable, Mr. Scamander!"

"What's the matter, _Percy_? Tired already?" Unable to resist, Percival reaches out to grope the plush rear, relishing the way his fingers sink into the soft flesh. Newt moans, arching into the touch like a cat as his lover spreads his puffy hole open with two fingers, catching a glimpse of deep secret pink, now slick with seed. “Take me from behind. You're putting a baby in me tonight, I don’t care how long it takes— _aah!”_

Percival slaps him, making the globes of his ass jiggle, a white rivulet trickling down his inner thigh. Newt hears what is typically known as a 'round two charm' and then rough hands grip his hips and the older man enters him with one thrust. He screams again, the pleasure-pain on his oversensitive insides driving him delirious.

"Be careful what you wish for," the Auror growls, thrusting brutally into Newt's pliant body.  "The whole world will see you pregnant with my child." He pulls out until the head of his cock rests against Newt’s rim then slams back in, enjoying the way the tiny orifice stretches to accomodate him. "What will your brother think, when he sees what a whore you've been, picking up men at the bar to pleasure your greedy cunt?"

With a strangled sob, Newt comes again. He shakes from head to toe, legs threatening to give out as his release splatters the bedsheets. Percival manages to stay focused through the delicious rhythmic pressure around his cock, pounding Newt through his orgasm.

"Slut," he whispers, leaning over Newt's trembling back. "Look at you, coming so hard just from listening to my voice. Don't act like you're the one in control here, Mr. Scamander!"

"Shut up," Newt pants, a definite hint of embarassment in his voice. "Orgasms help the sperm reach the ovaries, so I took a lust draft. Shut up and get on with it, Mr. Graves!"

"Ever the scientist, I see." Percival chuckles, winding a hand through Newt's dishevelled red hair. "Maybe I should tie you up and see how many times I can make you come. I wonder how long it would take for you to beg me to stop." He grasps a handful of hair and tugs, forcing Newt back onto his cock. The magizoologist gasps as his head is pulled back and turned to the side, letting the Auror watch his blissed out face. He's drooling a little, Percival realises with a smile.

"Then _do it_ , Graves!" he commands, voice hoarse. "Shove that fat cock deeper, make sure your seed catches or else!"

"Or else what?" Percival's right hand keeps its firm grip on Newt's hair, his left sliding beneath Newt's navel. "What will you do if this pretty belly stays flat?"

"I'll call up a hundred men, Graves," Newt gasps, balancing on one hand to entwine his fingers with Percival's, no doubt dreaming of the bump that would form beneath their touch. "I'd let each of them take me as you watch, until their spend runs down my legs and my belly is as fat as if I'd been carrying a whole litter. So you _better not_ disappoint me, Graves!" He collapses onto his stomach, dragging Percival down with him. "I chose to carry your child, so you better fuck me harder, you better make me--"

Still holding him by the hair, Percival silences him with a kiss. Newt pants like a trapped beast, and Percival recalls seeing wampus cats mating on an Ilvermorny field trip, realising suddenly that Newt's gesture had been one of submission. So he bares his teeth and bites down on Newt's shoulder, the way he had seen the male wampus doing.

The effect on the magizoologist is immediate. Too hoarse to scream, he simply gasps, his hips stuttering once, twice, and then he's coming for the third time, a meager dribble of seed trickling onto the sheets. He lies still, eyes glazed and mouth open, as Percival reaches climax after a few final punishing thrusts.

They fall apart, filthy and sated. Sighing, Newt rolls onto his back, and Percival notices the tiniest bulge beneath his navel. He has to run his fingers over it to make sure that it's not a trick of the light.

He knows he's never come this much before, and he mentally forgives the Brit for whatever he put in his drink.

Newt turns to face him, exhausted but satisfied, giggling as he knits their fingers together. The bite mark on his shoulder is bleeding a little. Percival reaches for his wand, but Newt shakes his head, and the Auror wonders if he's looking for another scar to add to his collection.

"Go to sleep," he says, and presses a chaste kiss to Percival's forehead.

 

In the morning, Newt wakes him up with eggs and bacon.

 


End file.
